


Don Juan Defeated

by orphan_account



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: 25th Anniversary-based, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can still work for the 2004 movie, F/M, I cried while writing this, Lyrics taken directly from The Point of No Return, Mostly focuses on Christine/Erik though, Probably not good for those who don't like him, Raoul is not an asshole, What Have I Done, i think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 06:11:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10457208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: With all the things Christine dreamed up, there was but a single scenario that she did not imagine. It was, as these things often are, the one that ultimately came to pass.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All italicized dialogue is singing. 
> 
> This fanfic was inspired by this Tumblr post: https://stasya-k.tumblr.com/post/145801799160/the-curtain-falls-his-reign-ends-if-the
> 
> Enjoy!

Christine's hands shook terribly. In fact, her entire body was shaking, and quite visibly so. She longed for the comfort that only Raoul could give her, but he was too busy to sit with her and calm her. He was preoccupied with the preparations for the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ , placing his chess pieces, setting the trap, beginning the plot.

Madame Giry, who was normally so stern and commanding, was gentle and motherly as she styled Christine's voluminous hair. She tutted over the dark circles that had begun to form under the young soprano's eyes and applied stage makeup that covered them. Every now and again, she made comforting statements that merely bounced off of Christine. Madame Giry did her best to be sincere, but she could not hide the worried expression that controlled her features.

Christine was anxious and exhausted. She had not slept for nearly three days, and she could feel her body begging her to sleep, but she could not. Every time she closed her eyes even for a moment, she saw terrible things. Her mind was working overtime, feeding her awful, half-delusional images of the horrors that might be in store. There were too many variables in the plan, too many things that could go wrong, and this scared Christine. The visions of all the possible futures were all too vivid and real, each more frightening than the last. She could not stop imagining her dark fate, prisoner once more of the elusive, possessive Phantom, or Raoul, dead by his hand. His masked face stared at her ghoulishly in the shadows of her mind, and it served as a constant reminder that if anything went wrong, she could be at his mercy for the rest of her life. She could not stop thinking, imagining, visualizing, so she tried to prepare herself for anything.

But there are some things she would never be able to prepare herself for. With all the things Christine dreamed up, there was but a single scenario that she did not imagine. It was, as these things often are, the one that ultimately came to pass.

******

The stage was set in a strange, almost surreal scene. Shadows lengthened and intensified under the yellow light and seemed to thicken like a viscous liquid. From the syrupy darkness behind a curtain emerged a cloaked figure. Christine felt a vague sense of fear when she saw this man, but she could not tear her eyes away. He moved so _gracefully_ towards her that it was almost like he was floating. He took his place several feet in front of her and stood, silent and still, for only a moment.

Even before he began to sing, Christine knew something was wrong. The man before her was not Piangi, that much she could tell. He was wearing the costume for Don Juan, but he was taller, less corpulent. And there was something about the way he carried himself. He walked with slight trepidation as if he were afraid the floor might collapse beneath him, but he still moved with the grace of a dancer. In other words, he was nothing like Piangi, but Christine could not fathom who this person could be. She wracked her brain in an internal frenzy, trying to remember if there was an understudy for Don Juan, but she couldn't recall. And then the cloaked man before her began to sing.

_"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge."_

His voice was as smooth as silk and as rich as velvet, even as he took on a husky tone, and she knew him right away. His voice struck her like a spear, pinning her to the ground and rendering her motionless. After all this time, he still had the same effect on her. She could only watch him from where she stood with wide eyes and trembling hands. He was right in front of her. The Phantom was _right there_ , almost within arm's length, and she felt he was looking at her as if he could see into her very soul despite the fact that she could not see his face, much less his eyes. But she did not need to see his eyes to feel them on her.

_"Past the point of no return, no backward glances."_

As the Phantom continued, he gained a different tone. His voice went lower and flowed slowly, steadily, like a thick, sweet syrup, seeming almost like he was trying to seduce her. He grew closer and almost touched her, _almost_ , his hands hovering just above her skin. Christine shivered involuntarily. At that, he retracted his hands from her, electing instead to circle her predatorily. His movements and his voice affected her. Every step, every _syllable_ made her long for him. It reminded her of that fateful night when he had spirited her away to his home under the opera house, the way he had sung to her so passionately. She had felt the way she did now then as well. And the Phantom, he was entrancing and bewitching, and she dimly knew she was slipping into a trance that she did not want to escape.

_"What warm unspoken secrets will we learn, beyond the point of no return?"_

His voice faded away, and Christine stood motionless, her mind totally blank. It took only a second to overcome her momentary loss of thought before she could waft away the haze that had clouded her thoughts and begin singing her part.

_"I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why."_

After the Phantom's beguiling performance, Christine felt like a child. When she heard her voice, she wanted to cringe. It sounded immature and pathetic in comparison to his. But she sang anyway, trying to ignore the deprecating thoughts filling her mind.

Christine sang as alluringly as she could. Her part called for it, and she desperately wanted to match the Phantom, but she struggled to focus. She moved like she had practiced, strutting appealingly the way Monsieur Reyer had told her at rehearsals, but she had felt awkward then, strange and utterly ridiculous. This moment was different. Christine could remember how Raoul had pulled her aside after that rehearsal and kissed her passionately, but then, almost immediately, he had expressed concern over her doing it onstage in front of an audience, in front of the Phantom, whom he knew would witness it. She had been a little concerned as well, but that was all out the window now. She would do _anything_ to catch up, no matter what her better sense told her.

_"Past the point of no return, no going back now."_

The Phantom shuddered, his cloak rippling with his movements. Christine smiled. The reaction she gained from him told her that she was doing well, which gave her the courage she needed to continue. 

She pressed on, gaining confidence now, moving slowly and elegantly closer to the Phantom, who had stopped a few feet in front of her. She took on a new tone, one of a seductress who would stop at nothing to win her prey. Her Don Juan stood still and did not move for several seconds. He seemed to be preparing himself for something, gathering his courage almost. Christine's voice rose, becoming fiery and impassioned.

_"One final question: how long should we two wait before we're one?"_

As she continued to sing, the Phantom closed in on Christine. She turned her back on him in a feign of momentary hesitance, glancing backward, but he still came, approaching her from behind. When he moved, his cloak distorted his edges and turned him into a flickering shadow, lacking corporeal form. But when he touched her, his hands were unexpectedly real, made of solid muscle and sinew. They were the hands of a man, despite his angel's voice and shadowed body, and it was all Christine could do not to sigh in pleasure from his touch alone. He brought his hand over her thigh, brushing it gently, and then up to caress her stomach. She angled her head to sing into his neck, having already forgotten about the audience. His hands were strong and soft as they touched her, fluttering over her stomach, brazenly bringing his palms over the swell of her breasts. All the while, Christine sang her part, bringing them closer to their passionate duet, but she was no longer playing a character in an opera. The two of them, together onstage, had once again become the Phantom and his soprano. Erik and Christine.

_"When will the flames, at last, consume us?"_

Christine gasped in a breath, feeling a fire burning on her skin where Erik touched her. Erik's hand stroked her collarbone and neck, and he too took a breath.

_"Past the point of no return, the final threshold."_

Their voices came together at once, crashing like the waves of the sea, rising to a violently beautiful crescendo. Christine was almost too far gone to notice him. _Almost._ But out of the corner of her eye, she saw the vague image of one of Raoul's men in the orchestra pit.

_"The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn."_

Christine did not know what to do. She regained control over herself between powerful refrains, but she was running out of time. The song was coming to an end. There was naught but a single line left. What could she even do? If she didn't alert Raoul before it was too late, surely Erik would steal her away again, back to that dungeon as dark as Hell itself. Her heart pounded at the thought, but she continued nonetheless to the final verse.

Two voices came together to sing the final cadence. It was somehow gentler than the rest of the song, but Christine could not appreciate it in her panic. _"Beyond the point of no re-"_

Christine did not know what she was doing as she tossed back Erik's hood. It was like a reflex, an _instinct_. She jolted back when the Phantom shoved her away. He looked panicked, but he did not move. The audience produced confused noises, but neither Christine nor Erik even glanced in their direction. The music had ceased. It had become real life, and it was dangerous.

Erik said nothing as he stood before Christine, breathing heavily. She could not have guessed at his thoughts if she tried, for her own had begun to spiral out of her control. The only thing she could do was watch his shoulders rising and falling and wonder if he would try to kill her.

And then he sang again, quietly, desperately. _"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime."_ He drew in a shuddering breath and reached out towards her, reminding Christine of a child. _"Lead me, save me from my solitude."_

Christine stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. He serenaded her, _begged_ her, _beseeched_ her, and she did not know what to do. Would it be better for her to go to him, or to run as far as she could? But she could not form rational thoughts. All she wanted to do was give in. He stepped closer to her, and she did not move.

_"Say you want me with you here, beside you..."_

Unknown to Christine and Erik onstage, Raoul was, at that exact moment, hidden in the darkness of the orchestra pit, whispering urgently to one of his men and pointing at the Phantom. The man nodded. He positioned his gun.

 _"Anywhere you go, let me go too,"_ Erik sang, rising to a desperately hopeful crescendo, _"Christine, that's all I ask of y-"_

A shot blasted through the air and cut him off. Several audience members gasped. A few even shrieked, but mostly there was quiet. Christine stood in stunned silence for a beat. Then a bloodstain, crimson and as final as a death sentence, blossomed on Erik's torso. Christine could barely see it past the dark cloak, but the bullet had hit home.

A moment passed before Christine could comprehend what had happened. She discovered only a moment too late that _this is not what she wanted_. A scream welled up in her chest and escaped out of her mouth as the Phantom toppled forward. She made a mad dash forward to catch him before he hit the floor. She held him up the best she could, but he was completely dead weight in her arms. She lowered him down as her eyes pricked and burned. His head rested on her lap, and she cradled his face as tears dripped off her nose and landed on his white, unblemished, unfeeling mask. She touched his face, the side not covered by a mask, feeling his skin under her hands and regretting so much.

"We've got to," she choked out helplessly. "We've got to stop your bleeding."

"Christine," Erik murmured. Then he coughed. Blood spattered on his lips. He struggled to raise his hand to cup her face. His thumb weakly brushed her cheekbone. Despite his condition, his eyes still shone with adoration for her.

"Don't talk, my love," she whispered, her voice thick with tears. "Don't talk." She was shaking awfully.

Erik tried to smile. The visible corner of his lip twitched, but it would not stay smiling. _"Christine,"_ he somehow managed to sing, despite the blood filling his lungs faster by the second, _"I love you."_

She thought he would close his eyes. He didn't. His last breath rattled from his chest, his hand fell from her cheek, and that was all. Christine sobbed with renewed intensity, uncontrollably and ugly. He was dead, and blood was on his lips, but she kissed him over and over again. She helplessly prayed, begging God to send him back, desperately hoping with each kiss that, just this once, fairy tales could be true and that Erik would wake up and kiss her back with warm, living lips. But nothing happened. The Phantom remained dead and unmoving, and his lips only grew cold and stiff.

Eventually, Christine stopped kissing him. She began to stroke his face, trying to picture it alive again. Her lip trembled as she remembered him smiling at her. It was a memory of a rare occasion, but it was beautiful, and it hurt her heart to think of it. Tears continued to slip from her eyes, and she did not try to hold them in. She couldn't stop saying his name.

She brought her hand to his mask. It was cold. Her fingers curled around the edges and lifted it away from Erik's face. She saw his deformity, and, for the first time, she was not afraid. She touched the maimed nose where it was caved in and gaping, ran her fingers over the ridged skin on his cheekbone, felt the warped patches that dominated the place where his hairline should have been. A sob wracked through her as she thought of how terrified she had been the first time she saw this face. Now, she was ashamed and heartbroken, and she desperately wished that she could go back and change _everything_.

Christine did not know how long it had been when Raoul finally came to her, but it was long after they had closed the curtains to hide the stage. The sight of her pitiful state sent a bullet through his heart. He realized that she would never love him in the same way she loved Erik, and that hurt him, but he could do nothing about it, and he loved her too much to let it repel him. He knelt beside her and touched her shoulder. She did not respond, so he tenderly plucked her arms from Erik's corpse and pulled her gently to her feet. She did not have any energy left to resist him with, so she merely whispered, "My angel, Raoul. He's dead."

Raoul picked up Christine and carried her bridal style to her dressing room. There were people still milling about in chaos backstage, but no one said a word to the solemn couple as they threaded through them. After he closed the door and locked it, he found a chair in the darkness and sat in it, resting Christine's trembling figure in his lap. He stroked her curls gently and pressed a kiss into her crown, hoping his closeness would somehow bring her peace. She sniffed back her tears and let out a shuddering breath, only to have them all come rushing forth again. "It's alright, darling," Raoul muttered comfortingly into her hair. "It's alright."

They hid away in the dressing room for a long time. Christine continued to sob, the sound of it amplified by the darkness. She breathed erratically, often gasping and coughing, sometimes sniffing thickly. All the while, Raoul faithfully comforted her, murmuring almost wordlessly to keep the strangling silence away.

Time passed slowly for the despondent lovers, hours crawling past at a snail's pace. Christine's tears had long since faded away, but her breaths still came out ragged and unsteady, and she still shook like a leaf in her fiance's arms. She had trouble keeping her eyes open. And Raoul had begun to worry. A vague yet persistent feeling niggled in the back of his mind: what if this path was not the right one? What if this was not what was supposed to happen? Everything felt so wrong, and he could not help but wonder what could have happened. Even as he tried to focus on other things, like Christine's distress or even the impenetrable darkness surrounding them, his mind wandered back to those disturbing thoughts, and he knew he would never be free of them.

In the end, Christine fell asleep on him. She was thoroughly exhausted by her grief, but her slumber remained fitful and restless. Even as she slept, she felt the gaping emptiness that consumed her mind. And, when she woke, hours later, after Raoul too had drifted off, she realized that there had been no songs being sung in her head for the first time in a very long while. She knew that the Angel of Music was gone, entirely and wholly, and she felt that loss in her soul as if part of her had died along with Erik. She would have cried again, but she found that she no longer had any tears left.

**Author's Note:**

> The line where Erik sings "Christine, I love you," is taken from the veeery end where he sings exactly that (you know, when Christine comes back to give him the ring) (why the frickity frack did she do that like come ON Christine do you even know how many tears could have been saved if you'd just kept it as a friggin memento or smth? ugghhghgh) (but seriously that's one of my favorite scenes {there's so much hope in his eyes and then, to quote the simpsons, "you can actually pinpoint the second when his heart rips in half"}).
> 
> Also, as a side note, I'm not actually sure how accurate this is?? Like?? I haven't watched the 25th Anniversary in like two years (r i p m e) so I basically based this off of what I can hear in the song, what I can remember (it's nothing basically), and how the song feels to me/what it sounds like is happening to me. Sorryyyy. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked it. Thank you very much for reading. :')


End file.
